


Can't Help Falling

by Steamed_Tets



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, get ready for some YEARNING
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:47:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23724070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Steamed_Tets/pseuds/Steamed_Tets
Summary: Take my hand, take my whole life too..Damned, be the fool that falls too fast...
Relationships: Wes/Wilson (Don't Starve)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 42





	Can't Help Falling

**Author's Note:**

> If the end bit doesn't make the most sense I blame the fact that I never edit anything in my life

When Wilson had first seen Wes’ face they were both scared and stressed, one locked in place, forever trapped by the power of magic, the other holding a tentacle spiked bat at the ready, both of them surrounded by Clockworks that Maxwell had placed to destroy anyone with the mere thought of trying to free the captive mime. Wilson was just amazed that there was another human being in this messed up world. He’d fought through the guarding chambers of Clockworks, now covered in all-new cuts and bruises, blood dripping down his arm from when a Bishop shot had nearly missed him mere moments ago. A Rook and two Knights left, he could do this. The heat from the summer sun only added to the sweat on his brow, Wilson pulled his free hand off his bleeding arm and gripped the bat tighter.  _ Now or never,  _ the scientist thought.v With a quick shift of balance he charged, skinning past the equally charging Rook and bashed a Knight in the center. 

The first Knight stumbled, the other aimed an attack at Wilson’s head. The scientist barely turning out of the way, swung the bat over the attacking Knight which sent it flying, sparks soaring as it hit the ground and slid past the mime. A glance back at the Rook warned him it was going to charge again as steam shot out of its metal horn. Wilson lined himself up with the Knight he had just sent skidding across the ground, hoping beyond hope that the Rook would crush it beyond recognition in its charge. The Rook roared, and started its charge, Wilson waited and then nearly leapt out of the way, the Rook granting his wish by crushing the second Knight with its powerful force. 

One down, two to go

The first Knight was back up and caught Wilson off guard, sending him sliding across the ground. The Rook was rounding again and ready to charge, Wilson forced himself to stand, despite the pleading from all of his muscles to rest. With a loud scream, he charged the Knight again and hit it as hard as he could, taking its head clean off. This just left the Rook. Wilson wiped the sweat of his brow on the sleeve of his shirt. The Rook charged again with a roar, but Wilson was ready, turning and blowing the horn off the metal beast. With his bat broken in half and a rather angry Rook targeting him, he needed to think quickly. 

He pulled another tentacle spike out of his backpack and narrowly missed getting stomped on. He knew trying to break a Rooks body was never going to happen, but if he could knock its head loose he might have a chance. He stole a glance at the frozen prisoner and they locked eyes for a moment. Wes almost pleading that Wilson stop what he was doing so he wouldn’t get hurt despite not knowing him, and Wilson looked on, glare erased from his face at the worry this stranger conveyed for him. Wilson shook his head and looked at the Rook again, glare plastered back on his face as though it had never left. 

Wilson backed himself against the edge of the platform, the Rook charged and as soon as its head had slammed mere inches from his person he started slamming. Bringing the bat down over and over again as hard as he could screaming in anger like a wild animal the entire time. The Rook started to turn and that only made Wilson scream louder and swing harder. The bat snapped in half as the Rook turned to charge again, but as luck would have it, its head shook loose from the turn, disconnecting from the rest of the body. Wilson collapsed onto his knees, voice hoarse, muscles weak. He couldn’t believe he’d done it. He practically lost his mind there with how hard he was screaming. He turned to face the trapped performer, a sad look in his eyes over the show he’d just displayed. Some gentleman he was. He stood up, gripping his right arm with his left hand, quickly pulling it away. Well, at least some of the blood had closed up the wound during the fight. He’d have to be sure to put healing salve on it later. He limped over to the performer, carefully lifting a hand and tapping a frozen arm. 

Immediately the spell was broken and the mime collapsed to his knees quickly looking up, as though preparing to thank Wilson. Wilson smiled and offered a hand to help him up. And that's when  _ they _ showed up and whisked the performer away right before his very eyes. Transported to some other part of this godforsaken hell Wilson had come to call home. Once the shock had settled in he sobbed, loudly and openly for the whole Constant to hear. That was his first human contact outside of Maxwell’s horrible face since being brought to this world and it had been snatched away just as quickly as he had found it. Before it all, he had self-isolated by choice, but he could see other people then. Now? This was Hell and he wanted the world to know it. 

  
  


\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It was at least eight seasons, over two years before Wilson saw Wes again. By this time Willow, the fiery arsonist and Wilson’s own personal bullying machine, and the excitable Webber, a young boy who had been nearly consumed by and later fused with one of the spiders that roamed the Constant had joined Wilson in his mission for survival. Walking through a forest not too far from where the trio had set up camp, Wilson was busy chopping trees down for firewood and boards. That’s when he heard the sound of something big falling over. It wasn’t a tree, the Bearger was far away from their camp in the opposite direction and Webber had assured him there were no spider nests in this part of the forest. Wilson traded his ax for a tentacle spike from his backpack and shifted his balance, carefully weaving in and out between the tree trunks. He rounded a third trunk and that’s when he found the performer, sitting down rubbing his back, a Gobbler towering over him and the berry bush in front of him. Wilson, shocked, took a swing and knocked the Gobbler out in one accidental swoop. 

Once he was sure it was down he turned to look at the mime below him, “It’s you again! I thought for sure Maxwell had pulverized you or something.” He shook his head, putting the bat away, “What are you doing here? What’s your name? I have so many questions.” 

Just then, a low growling noise filled the air around them and Wes’ face turned almost as red as an apple even with all the makeup on. Wilson could only laugh loudly in response and pulled a fist full of berries out of his backpack.

“Come on then, let’s get you to camp.” Wilson started, offering a hand to help the other up, “We have plenty of food in the icebox. We can save the questions till after lunch. Besides, I’m sure Webber will be thrilled at the thought of a new friend.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

It’s been perhaps a year since Wes joined the group, and in that time Wendy and her sister Abigail, Miss Wickerbottom, Warly, Wigfrid, and Winona have all joined the group and made a weird little family. None of them had ever thought there were this many people in the Constant. Though recently, more than recently, Wilson has found himself feeling odd about the resident performer. Not bad, not at all. Just odd. Whenever he was around Wes he felt his heart rate pick up in speed just a tad, he started stuttering more, though he’d insisted to Willow that his nose was just stuffed up. And when he was actually alone with Wes? It was all of that to the max but he found himself feeling incredibly happier. Wilson just couldn’t seem to put his finger on the feeling. 

Willow joined him on the log where he was sitting, “What are you staring out into space for old man? These ropes aren’t gonna weave themselves ya know!” 

Her shouting had pulled Wilson out of his dazed state of thought and sent him crashing down into reality again, “Miss Willow! Please! Don’t startle me like that.” 

She laughed, “I came and sat down! No sneaking involved. I can’t help it your weird brain is lost!” 

Wilson grumbled and turned his attention back to the half-formed rope in his hands and started weaving once again. 

Willow smiled, “Come on spill the beans, what had you so lost in the clouds instead of stuck in the ropes anyway?” 

Wilson felt his face slowly starting to get warm but only focused harder on the rope, “Nothing you’d be interested in Miss Willow.” 

“Hm,” She said, standing up and brushing the back of her skirt off. “Be sure to tell that to Wes too the next time you see him.” 

Wilson looked up in shock, his face going bright red, “ _ MISS _ Willow!” His voice nearly cracked, “I’m offended at the thought!” 

She laughed, putting her hands behind her head, “Tell that to the mime behind you.” 

Wilson turned around quickly only to be met with empty space. When no performer was present he sighed heavily and turned back to Willow with a deep scowl on his face, “Why do you insist on picking on me constantly?” 

She laughed, turning around, “Because it's fun.” She offered a wave, “Later old man.” 

Wilson pouted to himself and went back to his weaving. He liked making ropes because it allowed his mind to wander and he could get his work done. Scientific theories and thoughts about the local flora and fauna surrounding them. But today his mind had wandered to the mime in question that was causing his feelings to go so haywire. With two more ropes finished Wilson had decided that was more than enough for the day. Cleaning up the mess he’d made and putting supplies back where they belonged allowed his mind to wander a bit onto his thought from before. What was it about Wes that made him feel this way? None of the other survivors made him feel like that. Wilson walked back to his tent where his journal was, he needed to think this through. Scientifically of course. 

Pulling the flap away he crawled into the tent and sat down on his bedroll. He pulled the thin journal that he had made himself, with the help of Miss Wickerbottom that is, and flipped it open to the next clean page. Taking the feather quill out he simply wrote a W at the top of the page. The first thing he thought to do was to list his symptoms if they could even be referred to as such, that occurred whenever he was alone with Wes. Scratch of quill against the paper as Wilson quickly wrote out in the most horrendous chicken scratch anyone had ever seen the supposed symptoms he had whenever he was around Wes. Once he’d had a solid list, he scanned it over. No illness he knew of had this collection of symptoms, and he would know considering his fair share of getting sick when he was younger. 

So what could this possibly be? 

He scoured his mind, scratching his head in such a way as to not mess up his hair. Nothing was coming to mind as to what could be the cause of this phenomenon and it frustrated him. That was when he stopped, maybe he was looking at this all wrong. The feelings weren’t really  _ bad _ and Wilson didn’t particularly want them to go away either, he was simply confused by them that was all! Or that’s what he’d been telling himself after all. If he was being honest he had a pretty good hunch as to the origin of these symptoms and the feeling behind them. And the worst part is that he’s pretty sure Willow knows all about it too. 

Wilson groaned loudly, falling back against his bedroll and letting the journal fall to his side. The most logical conclusion he could come to was something he’d never dare speak out loud. He could only hope that Wes hadn’t quite noticed yet. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Three weeks went by since Wilson had gotten to the source of his feelings and tried to not let it bother him as much. Unfortunately, for him, feelings don’t work like that. Willow had noticed his stunning yet obvious revelation somehow as well and seemed to take immense fun in his suffering. Not that this was something new, she had always done that. The gentleman scientist, however, was at a complete loss for what to do. Maybe he could try asking Miss Wickerbottom for advice? It was a logical decision, but he wasn’t so sure he wanted his uh, private matters known to the strictest woman in the camp. 

He fidgeted with the tentacle spike in his hand. He was supposed to be scouting the area and looking for food. Not one of his favorite activities but at least it let him be alone with no possible interruptions. At least none from a certain arsonist in this case. Though despite his distraction he had actually picked up a fair amount of berries which was good considering Wes was quite the glutton and Warly had incredibly picky tastes. He’d have to try a little harder though, for the sake of the camp and for his own sanity so Wigfrid wouldn’t protest about how he had brought back no meat. 

While hunting for the Gobbler he lets his mind wander again and it goes straight back to Wes, as it so often does more recently he’s noticed. The more he thinks about it, the more he’s sure of his feelings even if he isn’t confident on acting on them, Wes might give kisses to everyone in camp, himself included, but Wilson isn’t so sure he’d be able to muster that same kind of confidence. He was confident about forming theories and ideas in his head, not so much about acts of affection. Living alone for so long with only one focus would do that to you he supposed. He was also confident that he’d just spotted the Gobbler. Pulling his thoughts back to reality and the task at hand, he took off in a sprint, cornering the beast between the trees and taking it down. That saved him an argument for certain. 

A thought occurred to him as he picked up the drumsticks, however. Did he even want to confess? What made him so sure _ Wes  _ would feel the same way? He hadn’t considered that before. Perhaps he had let himself get a tad too lost in his fantasies? Wilson frowned, his mood instantly soured. Now he was more than positive he didn’t have the confidence, he wasn’t even sure he  _ wanted _ to tell Wes. There was a good chance that Wes didn’t think of him in such a way anyway. Considering they all came from the same reality, it was very unlikely Something like this, for him, was completely ridiculed there. That only served to further sour his mood. He turned and started his hike back to camp, kicking a stray stone in the process. With the sun beginning to set he needed to head back, but he deemed he had plenty of time and wasn’t in a hurry to get back anyway. 

Wilson would have never considered himself to be an overly-emotional person, though he did get frustrated rather easily from years of failed experiments, among other things, he would never consider himself to be open with his emotions. But in that moment, with the sun setting and a gentle autumn breeze bringing a small chill to the air, he wanted to cry. Sob even. He hated feeling like this, like everything inside of him was begging to be set free, all of his emotions pouring out. An old, familiar feeling, the bitterness of it all stung. He felt like a little kid who’d just been grounded for having too many sweets. He could see the fence surrounding their camp slowly come into view so he slumped down behind a tree and pulled his knees against his chest. Far enough away that he wouldn’t be seen or heard and he could make a run for it if night happened to sneak up on him, he left himself cry. Quietly and alone. He knew letting his emotions out would help, at least for the time being, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. This was all so sudden for him and he hated when he let his emotions get the better of him. Especially in a world where so many things wanted to kill him at the drop of a hat. 

He was in love. That’s as simple as it got. And though he wasn’t in the normal reality for which he’d be surely further ostracized, living as a failing scientist in the woods wasn’t exactly a charming feature, the mere thought that those rules somehow still applied here tore him apart. He knew, in theory, that these were his friends, they all cared about one another and needed each other to survive. They had become a family. Willow had been the only one he’d told, and she’d shown him nothing but understanding and love. Well, love being a very broad term by Wilson’s standards in this case. But Wilson hadn’t even bothered to tell his blood family about his secret. Not that they had talked to him in years as it was. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing his new family too. 

“Damned be the fool that falls too fast.” He sniffed, pulling out the only handkerchief he’d had when he’d been taken to this forsaken place and blowing his nose. He wiped his eyes on his sleeve, despite being very unlike a gentleman and sniffed again. With fresh tears readying to fall, that’s when he heard a twig snap to his right. Wilson dropped his handkerchief and wiped his eyes on his sleeve again quickly, picking up the tentacle spike he had discarded when he had arrived at the tree and standing, ready to strike. His previous dilemma would have to wait until he dealt with a possible problem. At least he might get some frog legs out of it.

“Show yourself and face a worthy foe!” Wilson shouted, his voice cracking from the strain of having just been crying and he cursed himself mentally.

The grass rustled nearby with the sound that Wilson could only assume was the footsteps of the person or thing he’d caught spying on him. When the perpetrator came around the tree trunk from which they were hiding Wilson felt his heart drop into his stomach. Wes stood there sheepishly and gave a small wave to acknowledge Wilson. The scientist lowered his spike, setting it down on the ground with a heavy sigh and leaning back against the tree once again.

“You know, it’s not polite to sneak up on people.” His voice was barely above a whisper and he couldn’t bring himself to look at Wes. “What are you doing all the way out here anyway?”

The rustling of a backpack and scratching on paper let Wilson know that Wes was writing out a message. The performer walked over while he wrote quickly, so he could give the page to Wilson. Once he’d finished Wilson turned his head to read. 

_ I was taking an evening hike before it got too dark and I heard someone crying. When I went looking for the source and found you, but I didn’t want to intrude. I’m sorry! I won’t tell anyone if you don’t want me to. _

Wilson swallowed, Wes was nothing if not ultimately kind and respectful of other people's business, “No, you don’t have to apologize but thank you for not telling anyone. I’m..sorry you had to see me like that,” he forced a chuckle. “Shouldn’t be letting my emotions get the better of me out here.”

The scratch of quill against paper let Wilson know Wes was writing again. Once he was finished he turned the page around to let Wilson read.

_ I’m very sorry for intruding, but is there anything I can do to help? We are part of the same team after all and I want to help my friends if I can. _

Wilson sighed a little, “Just overthinking my thoughts I suppose. Or not thinking them through? I’m not sure.” 

Wes sat down beside him and started scribbling a note on the same sheet of paper, how Wilson wished he hadn’t,  _ What do you mean? _

Wilson swallowed and hoped beyond hope that Wes couldn’t hear his heart beating out of his chest, “I’ve had some uh realizations recently and may have allowed myself to indulge in those fantasies a tad too much given certain circumstances.” He swallowed again, trying to get rid of the lump in his throat. Finally alone with Wes, something he’d thought about for weeks to confirm his theory, and yet he wished for nothing more than to be anywhere else. He’d rather be facing the Bearger alone than sitting here. He’d rather the shadows in the night swallowed him whole right now.

Wes frowned a little, tilting his head and Wilson could almost cry. “Wes I…” His voice trailed off and his throat closed up. He turned away. He really didn’t want to be here anymore. What if Wes never looked at him again? Or wrote messages? Or gave any affection? Wilson couldn’t bear the thought of any of it. Though he was afraid that now it was too late to turn back, Wes was curious and just wanted to help. Kind soul that he was. Wilson had to tell him something,  _ anything _ , but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to risk it, he didn’t want to lose everything he found in this cursed world that made him happy. All because of one secret. 

In that moment, Wilson thought long and hard about what to do. Maybe too long, he couldn’t be sure. He didn’t know what would happen, he didn’t want to lose anything at this moment. But he was positive that whatever happened, it wouldn’t be as bad as his anxieties would let him believe. He didn’t want to keep this a secret for the rest of his life. After having the courage to tell his own personal bully of a found sister, he had gained more confidence in himself and didn’t want to keep hiding it. That much he was certain of. So he made a decision.

Wilson choked back a sob, steadying himself before looking up at Wes and speaking again, “Wes, I think there is a very good possibility that I might be in love with you. No, I don’t think it. I know it. I am in love with you.” He sighed, he’d done it and now his secret was out to someone else. He wanted to cry all over again. 

Wes blinked in surprise and hesitated a moment. In that moment, Wilson searched the performer's eyes for what felt like hours for a reaction. Disdain, hurt, acceptance, ridicule, love, anything. Wilson just needed Wes to do or say  _ something. _ To let him down easy even. But he didn’t. Instead, Wes smiled softly, looking down and taking Wilson’s hands in his own. Wilson looked down at their hands and quickly looked back up at Wes in confusion, his face slowly turning pink as he blinked away the tears. With his free hand, Wes slowly cupped Wilson’s face and brought them together in a soft, quiet kiss. It was slow, gentle, it felt right. Eyes closed, hands held, and no one to bother them. 

After what could have very well been an eternity, Wes slowly pulled away, a warm, gentle smile on his face. Wilson opened his eyes in time to see Wes carefully stand up and give a small wave before walking off. His mind moving faster than light in an attempt to comprehend what exactly had just happened. Insides churning and swelling with the joy of something that he couldn’t even fully comprehend yet brought a smile to his face, bright red in a blush as it was. He raised a hand to touch his cheek where Wes had held him. 

He smiled softly, “Damned be the fool that falls too fast.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mere feet away, Wes was hiding behind another tree, his hands cupping his own blushing face that he could have been certain would have been seen through his performance makeup, a giddy smile on his face at what he had just had the confidence to do and knowing that Wilson had felt the same way all along. A few minutes passed before he had successfully shaken all the giddiness out of himself and, with a gentle smile, he started his walk back home.


End file.
